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The sea pronounces something, over and over, in a hoarse whisper I cannot quite make it out.

Annie Dillard

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Annie Dillard
Age: 79
Born: 1945
Born: April 30
Author
Essayist
Novelist
Poet
University Teacher
Writer
Pittsburg
Pennsylvania
Annie Dillard Doak
Beach
Sea
Ocean
Quite
Cannot
Something
Pronounces
Make
Hoarse
Whisper

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As a life's work, I would remember everything - everything, against loss. I would go through life like a plankton net.
Annie Dillard
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I alternate between thinking of the planet as home - dear and familiar stone hearth and garden - and as a hard land of exile in which we are all sojourners.
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It makes more sense to write one big book - a novel or nonfiction narrative - than to write many stories or essays. Into a long, ambitious project you can fit or pour all you possess and learn.
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I woke in bits, like all children, piecemeal over the years. I discovered myself and the world, and forgot them, and discovered them again.
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It was less like seeing than like being for the first time seen, knocked breathless by a powerful glance.
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Evolution loves death more than it loves you or me. This is easy to write, easy to read, and hard to believe.
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Then why did you tell me?
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Every day is a god, each day is a god, and holiness holds forth in time.
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For writing a first draft requires from the writer a peculiar internal state which ordinary life does not induce. ... how to set yourself spinning?
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On plenty of days the writer can write three or four pages, and on plenty of other days he concludes he must throw them away.
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Admire the world for never ending on you -- as you would an opponent, without taking your eyes away from him, or walking away.
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How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives. What we do with this hour and with that one, is what we are doing.
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I cannot imagine a sorrier pursuit than struggling for years to write a book that attempts to appeal to people who do not read in the first place.
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We live in all we seek. The hidden shows up in too-plain sight. It lives captive on the face of the obvious - the people, events, and things of the day - to which we as sophisticated children have long since become oblivious. What a hideout: Holiness lies spread and borne over the surface of time and stuff like color.
Annie Dillard
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Many writers do little else but sit in small rooms recalling the real world.
Annie Dillard
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Anything you do not give freely and abundantly becomes lost to you.
Annie Dillard
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The secret is not to write about what you love best, but about what you, alone, love at all.
Annie Dillard
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Could two live that way? Could two live under the wild rose, and explore by the pond, so that the smooth mind of each is as everywhere present to the other, and as received and as unchallenged, as falling snow?
Annie Dillard
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The mind of the writer does indeed do something before it dies, and so does its owner, but I would be hard put to call it living.
Annie Dillard
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I can't dance anymore. Total knee replacements. I can't do anything anymore.
Annie Dillard